


The tale your thoughts could tell

by oper_1895



Series: Sex is just a word (Asexual!Neal) [15]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Asexual Character, Community: kink_bingo, D/s, Imagination, Kinky!not-porn, M/M, Mind Games, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oper_1895/pseuds/oper_1895
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagination is a powerful tool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The tale your thoughts could tell

**Author's Note:**

> For kink_bingo prompt: Bodily alteration/Injury
> 
> Beta: This one has been sitting in the dry docks for so long... Thanks to [](http://bientot.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**bientot**](http://bientot.dreamwidth.org/) , [](http://jumpuphigh.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**jumpuphigh**](http://jumpuphigh.dreamwidth.org/) and [](http://elrhiarhodan.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**elrhiarhodan**](http://elrhiarhodan.dreamwidth.org/) for your efforts.

  


_______________

  
Neal tugged against his restraints, mouthing at the gag to test the limits of the restrictions.

He was blindfolded and kneeling with his hands tied to ankles. It didn’t take long to figure that he was pretty thoroughly bound. He might be able to get out but the rope was rough; it wouldn’t take much to wear the skin raw. It would be best to wait until it was absolutely necessary before he drew his own blood.

Whatever was going to happen would happen soon. Hopefully. He could hear someone moving around the room and the anticipation was started to get to him. He wondered what they’d do when they finally got around to him.

He could imagine how it would go.

First, they’d push him around a bit. A little bit of brute force and bludgeoning, a show of strength to demonstrate exactly how screwed Neal was. It wouldn’t take much to knock him over. Upright, even on his knees as he was now, he could at least make an attempt to face them, head up and shoulders back. Once he was on the floor, he’d barely be able to curl. The best he’d be able to do would be to duck his head and hope for the best, hope they avoided his face.

The kind of people who’d be holding him though, they’d want to do for more than just simple pain. They’d want to break him, take away who he was. They’d go for his face, bloody him up a bit before moving onto his body.

Then they’d leave him alone. Let it all soak in while he lay there, stunned and in pain, battered and bruised. They’d give him time for the aches to set in along with the realization of exactly how hard it was to breathe with bruised ribs and a body unnaturally arched by his restraints. He’d start to cramp up. If they were really evil they‘d leave a little something, a bit of metal, some hope. Give him a chance to try to escape just so he could fail.

They could leave him there for hours. Wait not only for pain, but hunger and thirst. He could almost feel it now: the thick breathing, the taste of blood in his dry mouth. Adrenaline and anticipation made him shaky, a buzz running through his veins at his complete and utter helplessness.

After they’d let him stew then for a while, they’d come back to him. Then...

His hands. They’d probably go for his fingers. They had to know he was a forger, an artist, a conman. Everything he was was in his smile and his fingers. Neal clenched his hands into fists at the thought. First they’d tease at it. Anticipation was what would create fear, his imagination was more powerful than the actual act.

He’d try to be strong once they started in with blades and blunt instruments. He’d try to hold off as long as he could, but there was only so much a person could take. They would win. The most he could hope for would be to surrender gracefully to the inevitable.

A hand touched his shoulder.

Neal jerked away, overbalanced and toppled at the unexpected contact. He hit the ground hard, scared and cursing behind the gag. His heart was pounding in his throat. A heavy knee hit the ground near his head.

The blindfold was pulled off, and Peter was there. “Shit, Neal, I’m sorry. You okay?”

Neal groaned, disorientated as he was jerked out of his fantasy. Peter fumbled at the gag as Neal blinked, trying to ground himself; strong hands were on his shoulders urging him to sit up in the Burke’s bedroom. Satchmo was barking at squirrels in the back yard and Elizabeth would be home soon. Neal tried to catch his breath, and Peter held him.

“Lost track of things there?” Peter asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Neal laughed, a little giddy now that the rush had passed. The fantasy had turned out to be unexpectedly intense. “Just a little.”

“Yeah. Just a little.” Peter said, checking Neal‘s pulse. Neal could feel his heart hammering against Peter’s fingers. “I think that‘s enough for tonight.”

Neal felt a flicker of guilt, Peter had plans when he had tied Neal up. “But you barely got started.”

“You were doing just fine without my help.”

“I’m sorry.” Neal said, his voice muffled into Peter’s shoulder as Peter reached around to release the ropes.

Peter sat back and tipped Neal’s head up so Neal could see he was smiling.

“Don’t be” Peter said firmly. “It was worth it to watch you just think yourself into that state. But if you want to make it up to me, you can tell me was going on in your head.”

Neal grinned.

  


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End file.
